


the difference between sand and sea

by BottleofInk



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, Evil, Good, Metaphor, Will thinks a lot, Will/Hannibal if you squint, and kind of if you don't, but probably not in the way you expect, complicated relationship, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottleofInk/pseuds/BottleofInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will contemplates himself and Hannibal Lecter, and the blending of them.</p><p>'something to wipe away, forever, the difference between sand and sea'</p>
            </blockquote>





	the difference between sand and sea

Every time they reached the end of something and Will would think _‘right, that’s the last time, we’re done now’_ , a new thing would start.

It was like they were the shore and the ocean – the tide would come in, they would blend together until you couldn’t tell one from the other, the sand lost under the waves entirely.

And then the tide would go out and they were entirely distinct – beach and sea. A glance could tell you the difference.

Ignoring the breaks in the metaphor (that the beach just dips beneath the ocean, hides beneath it, stretches as far as it does, that the metaphor was ill-suited because one of them did not cover the other, rather they blended together like colors on a palate to create something new), it seemed to Will like the best explanation.

Usually, the things were conversations. They would start blandly enough, a passing remark, a certain quirk to a smile. And then they would build, and keep building, one conversation piling onto another – until something would break them, or finish them.

Like waves.

Sometimes they went somewhere deep and dark, these conversations, and they would finish in the depths of that shadow. Primal and wicked.

Once, one of the things had finished with Will’s hand around Hannibal’s throat, trying to squeeze the life from him, pinning him to the floor of his office – the thrum of that darkness rushing through his blood, across his skin – and Hannibal had just looked up at him – had grinned, all teeth – had been _pleased_.

Another time, it’d been the other way around. Hannibal had slammed him into a wall, pressed a knife to his neck, the other hand digging into his shoulder, pinning him. And Will had grinned, all teeth. Hadn’t been able to help it – all that fire, all that darkness, sitting warm in his belly, egging him on.

Sometimes, these things of theirs went somewhere high and bright. Conversations about morality, about goodness, so entirely intellectual – _and so often over tea, like no cliché could be escaped._ Conversations that led the both of them more into the light, like they could become saints.

Will didn’t have a word for what he and Hannibal were.

He didn’t know if what they were was good or bad. He remembered reading some quote, about what people bring out in you, and how some just bring out – everything.

Hannibal brought out everything in Will. And with him, Will was constantly shifting – personality wise. Sometimes kind, sometimes cruel, sometimes loving, sometimes so entirely filled with hatred he just wanted to kill Hannibal – to be done with it, free of it, never to see him again.

And that’s why, at the end of something, Will would think he was finally done – couldn’t stand another wave. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and it was driving him mad to try and control it – to put all of it away when he wasn’t around Hannibal, because other people wouldn’t understand – 

_How clichéd._

And every new thing made Will feel like they were building towards something even bigger, a tsunami, something to wipe away, forever, the difference between sand and sea – a new color, so entirely different – 

People like he and Hannibal, Will thought, where the duos that defined history – or had the power to. They could rip and render, destroy, or build and grow – good or bad – perhaps in the same breath.

How could the world hope to defend itself against such a thing?

(How could it ever want to?)


End file.
